Privy Poet’ Society: What About Me?

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Privy Poet’ Society: What About Me?

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Privy Poet’ Society is a section of Lutalica that is dedicated solely to poets and their love for poetry. To read more from Privy Poet’ Society, click here.

Each time I am asked to say something about myself,
I find myself starting the same way,“My name is Nidhi and I am nineteen years old.I study English…”

But what I would really like to say is,
I wish my name was Alaska,
Alaska like the tragic heroine of a John Green novel.
Once I found an online translation that said,
Alaska means that against which the sea breaks, that’s fancy.

Okay, back to the first day of the college.
My professor said,“So Nidhi, tell me something about yourself.”
Naturally, I went on,
Well, this summer vacation was really depressing for me.
My best friend moved to a different city.
My boyfriend cheated on me.
My sister lost her job. And I?
I lost my sanity.
But that’s all right,
I have started therapy,
I think I am getting better.

And to that she exclaimed,“Yes, yes, you are sad! But what are your hobbies?”

What?
But?
What about me?
What about?

Where’s the chance?

Where’s the chance to say that,
I tend to listen to music,
music that isn’t typically mainstream,
that it is rare when I meet someone,
who has even heard of half the bands I consider the best,
that a song once made me fall in love,
and the same song helped me stay alive when he left?

Where’s the chance to say that,
I have a picture of my dead father,
hanging on my wall,
and sometimes I forget that it is there,
the same way you forget about the sky,
or the earth underneath,
but there are nights when it is the only thing in the world I can stare at?

Where’s the chance to say that,
Even though I am nineteen,
the thought of marriage and children repulses me,
I have seen my mother love him more,
and he left and she’s still broken,
that I never want to end up like her,
the only thing I want out of my life is success,
and money, a lot of it,
but if I say that out loud to anyone it makes me sound arrogant?

Where’s the chance to say that,
I get super hungry in the middle of the night,
and open up Zomato,
bookmark each pretty cafe,
ones that serve an oreo shake within my budget,
but I immediately count the number of calories it would add to my already fat arms?

Where’s the chance to say that,
I am dating this cute guy,
he only lives five minutes away from my place,
the fact that he has agreed to watch each of my favourite TV series together with me,
it makes me want to wake up every morning,
even after a long night,
of wet pillows and terrifying dreams,
but somehow he makes me feel happy, not okay but happy?

Where’s the chance to say that,
I want to shout at each girl,
rambling about anxiety and cigarettes,
and ask her to shove it down her throat,
then tell me how it feels like,
because I am fucking tired of having that kind of addicts playing victims,
but that doesn’t help me make friends?

I have learned,
that people don’t have time for about me’s,
they only need two things,
a name,
and an indication that you’re special.

No wonder none of us knows who we are anymore.

Author’s Note: This poem is loosely inspired from the works of Kelsey Danielle and Colleen Hoover.

To read more by the author of Privy Poet’ Society: What About Me?, click here.